


Let's Have Another Toast to The Girl Almighty: aka Harry Styles, a pretty good sex slave

by musiclily88, sweet_disposition



Series: The Sexual Edification of Harry Styles [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom Liam, Dom/sub, Dungeon, F/M, Feminization, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, S&M, Sub Harry, Sub Zayn, Switch Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_disposition/pseuds/sweet_disposition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has learned over his few months working at Grimm's Grotto that there's a lot of things he can't do, namely Dom or sub for pay. However there is one thing he's really good at and that's being a good boyfriend. Yeah, he's sort of got that on lock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Have Another Toast to The Girl Almighty: aka Harry Styles, a pretty good sex slave

**Author's Note:**

> Ello loves! Surprise we're back with part 3! Enjoy xx

Harry greets Louis at the door of his flat wearing a shirt that says _CRAIC KILLS._

Louis raises a brow. “Nice shirt.”

“Niall has a new hobby. Specifically, graffiti-ing all of my white shirts with profanities and Gaelic phrases.”

“Have to introduce him to Zayn. Get some more artfully rendered clothing.”

“More like I’d just have a bunch of shirts with artfully rendered cocks.”

“I’m not complaining.”

They move into the kitchen slowly, Louis’ hand casual but possessive on Harry’s hip. “Uh, oh—by the way,” Harry begins slowly, “I hope you don’t mind if Niall joins us? He doesn’t really understand the concept of personal space, or like, dating.”

He snorts. “Nah.”

“Thanks, Lou. He literally whined when I tried to kick him out before. He claims my carbonara is his favourite.”

“Ooh, is that what you’re making me? Then I’m really not complaining.” He settles against the counter, watching attentively as Harry pours pasta into boiling water. “I refuse to help, by the way.”

“Want to watch the master at work?”

Louis snorts again. “Master, yeah right. Whatever you say.”

“Hey,” Harry drawls, smirking so hard his dimples pop.

“Weyhey!” Niall tumbles into the kitchen, tripping over his own skinny legs, grinning brightly. “Time to meet the parents, about fucking time!”

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Louis says with a small smile.

“You too!”

“You’re not my parent, Niall,” Harry says with utmost patience, as though he has held this conversation many times before.

“I’m your craic daddy!”

Louis shoots Harry a wild-eyed, amused look.

“Niall, please get Louis a beer so you can still salvage some of this first impression?” Harry requests in a voice that somehow doesn’t sound like a command.

Niall retrieves a beer for himself and for Louis, bodily dragging the latter out onto the sofa so they can _properly meet one another._ Harry maybe fears for Louis’ limbs. He soon finds he need not have worried, if the murmured flow of conversation and light laughter is anything to go by.

Shortly, he delivers dinner to them, all of them sitting around the low coffee table. “Not particularly formal, are we,” Harry says, twirling his fork aimlessly.

“We’re students, mate, it’s our prerogative.”

“Good word, craic daddy. Where’d you two meet, anyway?”

Niall laughs, bright and clear. “You want to tell it or shall I?”

“Your glee indicates you probably should,” Harry responds, rolling his eyes.

“So we’re chem lab partners, right, and I show up to the first session hungover as a mother only to find this ball of disaster is my partner. His dulcet tones notwithstanding, I swear he’s torture on the hungover. I had to save him from lighting himself on fire.”

“Hey!”

_“Twice.”_

Harry sulks for a moment. “Maybe I should have told it. I’m much nicer than you are.”

“Whatever. We still got the highest marks, didn’t we, mate?”

Harry looks soothed. “True.”

“What about you two, then?” Niall asks, shoving a large forkful of pasta into his mouth. He’s a bit of a chipmunk, some days.

“Um,” Harry stammers, drawing the word out very unnecessarily. “Uh. We met at work.”

Niall nods, swallowing, somehow, rather than choking on his food. “What was the meet cute? Who approached who?”

Louis’ eyes are narrowed but he responds lightly enough. “I asked Harry to tie me up and hit me.”

Niall knocks over his beer, face gone absolutely fuchsia. “You what now.”

Harry chokes out a laugh.

“Funny joke, mate, that’s the craic,” Niall splutters, face still bright pink.

“But, actually, Harry tells the story so much better than I do,” Louis bites out, eyes glinting like steel. “Adds in all the details and everything. Why don’t you tell him?” he adds in a tone that brooks no argument.

Harry clears his throat, shifting to face Niall more head-on. Both of them are pink-cheeked and nervous. “So, the thing is, like, my job, it’s like, so I work in this place that—remember how I said you’d make fun of me if you knew? And you accused me of being a hooker which, no way, Ni, I would never let anyone actually, like, put anything in me, Louis can attest to that, I just work there, and it’s—”

Niall mercifully cuts him off. “Haz, where the fuck do you work?”

“A dungeon.”

“The London Dungeon? The haunted museum place, the one that’s scary as fuck? That’s not embarrassing, actually, that’s kind of hardcore, if you think about it—”

Louis starts laughing so hard he nearly topples over. “You’re missing the plot here, mate, it’s a BDSM dungeon. With the hitting and the bondage and the kinky shit.”

Niall nearly swallows his tongue.

“Yeah,” Harry draws out, face flaming, eyes downcast.

“Embarrassing?” Louis echoes quietly, making Harry’s head snap up to look at him. “Interesting.”

“Nothing wrong with that! To each his own! Or her own! You do you! It is what it is! I’m gonna get another beer, I spilled this one! Who wants another round!” Niall scream-shouts as he flails and manages to work his way to his feet, making a beeline for the kitchen.

“Um.”

“We’re not having this conversation in front of him,” Louis says in murderous tones. “But don’t for one second think this is over.”

They sit in silence until Niall returns with two hands full of beer. “So, H,” he rushes out, face somehow redder, “do you do the spanking or get spanked? Because to be honest, mate, it would explain a lot—”

“I’m the receptionist, Ni. I mostly just answer phones.”

Niall nods slowly, sitting back down on the floor. “Okay.” He turns to Louis, head swiveling sideways. “And you?”

Louis merely raises one eyebrow, jaw set firm.

“Right,” Niall mutters, pursing his lips.

Louis tacks on a smirk for just one moment. “You should pop by sometime, you know. We’ll give you the grand tour. Won’t we?”

Harry just nods meekly.

“Not sure it’s my scene, to be honest.”

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” Harry responds before swiftly standing to collect everyone’s plates.

***

Harry flops onto his duvet later that night, exhausted and exhilarated but also on-edge. He watches Louis stalk across the room, watches him peel off his thin t-shirt before discarding it. He stays quiet.

“So,” Louis begins, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “You’re embarrassed.”

Harry clenches his jaw, exhaling hard. “Not of you, never of you.”

“Then what?”

“That I—that I let it go so long without telling anyone, that I was so bad at the outset. You’re so composed, you lot are. And I can’t. And Niall talks a big game but he knows my mum and he worries so much. He’ll make jokes about me being a hooker but tell him I’m a dungeon receptionist and he goes plum-coloured.”

“He did, a bit,” Louis admits slowly.

“My mum worries enough, I think she’d think I’m getting beaten within an inch of life, and the reason I took this job was to stave off the panicked phone calls, love, not to make her call me every hour on the hour, you know? I just can’t have her worry, and he knows her, and it just—it never felt right. The right time.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

Louis nods slowly, leaning forward. “Not even a little?”

“What?”

Louis shrugs. “You know how I like to watch you squirm.”

Harry’s nostrils flare. “Lou. I’m not ever embarrassed of you.”

He nods, walking his knees forward along the duvet. “Still and all. My boy might need to be taught a lesson in manners.”

“W-what did you have in mind?”

***

That’s how Harry ends up dressed up like a French maid, complete with short skirt, tall stockings, frilly hat, and pretty feather duster. And somehow, he finds himself dressed that way _at work._

“I agreed to this?” Harry asks, for the fiftieth time, settling his arse easily into the receptionist’s chair.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Zayn agrees easily, leaning so his elbows rest carefully on the edge of the desk. “You okay, bebs? You all good?”

“I guess. I just—”

Zayn waits.

“Do I look pretty?” he asks shyly, ducking his chin down. “Can I pull it off?”

“Oh, love,” Zayn answers, biting his lip. “Giving me a run for my money.” He flicks his gaze sideways, just for a moment. “Might have to steal you away after all,” he murmurs, eyes going hooded as Liam enters the lobby, face thunderous.

“Heard your girl’s due,” Liam practically growls, ominous, oblivious to the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a mesh vest and booty-shorts.

“I’m just gonna—” Harry tries, unsuccessfully, to stand, before he remembers he’s wearing kitten heels.

“No, by all means, stay, do your job. Just like the rest of us are,” Liam tacks on, glaring at Zayn. “Flirt with the help and the clientele alike.”

“You’re the help,” Zayn points out, small smile teasing at his lips.

“Can someone help me learn how to walk in these?” Harry asks, half out of a desire to break the tension and half out of a genuine interest in learning how to walk in heels.

“Love to!” Zayn responds brightly, reaching across the desk to grasp Harry’s hand. “Let’s head to the locker room.”

“Fine, fuck you both,” Liam mutters, stalking in the opposite direction.

***

“That’s worth talking about,” Harry says, part demand and plea.

“Not now, yeah,” Zayn says, dropping his gaze to Harry’s feet as he ghosts his hands down to Harry’s wrists. He’s wearing black skinnies and a skin-tight v-neck, looking vampiric and lethal. Harry’s mouth goes dry.

“Oh.”

“Balance on the balls of your feet, walk heel-toe. Strong hips, shoulders up. You’re beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“Hush.” Zayn backs away, holding Harry’s hands gently in between their still forms. “You know. Now walk.”

They traipse back and forth along the tile, Zayn’s hands tight against Harry’s sweaty grip. He gives encouragement in low tones, voice silky and gold. Harry stares at him a lot. He’s just—he’s pretty, and he’s raw, and he’s within touching distance of Harry’s stupid hands.

“Mate, chill,” Zayn says, laughter in his voice as he separates from Harry carefully. “You look liable to eat me.”

“Sorry. I concentrate hard,” he replies lamely. “I don’t, uh. Do things by half.”

Zayn quirks his lips, not truly smirking. “Think we’re done, love. Go find your boyfriend.”

Harry swallows, cheeks pinking. “Reckon you should go find yours!” he calls before darting out of Zayn’s reach, finally—finally—managing to not only walk but to _run_ in heels. 

So maybe he’s learned a thing or two.

***

“Kitty cat! So glad to see they’ve kept you!” That’s all Harry hears, and it’s enough to make his hair stand on end.

“Mr. Winston,” he breathes out, stomach automatically churning as the flavour of warm cream fills his mouth—and are flavour flashbacks even possible? Maybe it’s kitty-play PTSD, he tells himself. Maybe it’s something psychological.

“I work the desk now. No scenes!” he feels the need to blurt out, hoping he doesn’t sound rude. 

“Oh, that’s too bad. The ears suited you. Such a pretty kitty,” Mr. Winston coos, ruffling Harry’s curls. “Though this maid ensemble isn’t bad either.”

“Thanks,” Harry groans, wishing he could disappear.

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Thank you, _sir,”_ Harry corrects begrudgingly.

“That’s more like it!” Mr. Winston enthuses, scratching Harry’s chin in what he supposes is a reward.

“Let me fetch you your kitty, then,” he murmurs, glancing at the appointment book, wincing when he sees his boyfriend’s name in the slot. He vows right then and there to give Louis the world’s best blowjob later, because he will have totally earned it.

“Oh no, today I’ve got a naughty little fox lined up.” Mr. Winston smirks, looking absolutely predatory—beats the alternative, Harry tells himself, better he sublimates his urge to fuck fluffy things into kink rather than all-out bestiality. Either way he shudders as he stumbles down the fall in his heels, meaning to fetch Louis.

“Mr. Winston is here,” Harry mumbles darkly. “Says you’re a naughty fox.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Louis smirks, making a point to tug his black briefs down lower on his hips.

“Lord. You’re a menace, actually.” 

“Robe, please!” Louis crows, looking every bit the prince Harry sees him as.

“Yes, your highness,” Harry drawls out, bringing Louis his favourite silky black robe.

“Highness? I like that.” Louis preens, holding his arms out so Harry can put the robe on him. “You may proceed,” he cues, face smarmy as he glances over his shoulder at Harry.

“Sorry, sir. Just admiring,” Harry apologizes meekly before acquiescing to his request and sliding the robe on.

“Well I’m a busy man, darling. I’ll get to you later. But for now, could you please give me a piggyback ride to the lobby?” Louis requests, grinning wickedly because, for starters, he’s a little shit, and for seconds, he knows Harry would never say no.

“Fine.” Harry’s resigned himself to the fact that, bet or no bet, he’d eat dirt if it made Louis smile. “Hop up,” he groans, bending over a bit to accommodate Louis.

“There’s my boy, so obedient. Such a good one,” Louis praises, squeezing his thighs around Harry’s narrow hips.

“Hold on, sir. Don’t want you falling and breaking that pretty arse of yours.” With that, Harry is off, toddling down the corridor, his heels making the short trip a bit precarious. He moves at a speed rivaled by tortoises and his great aunt Matilda, who has a bad hip.

“Faster, H. I don’t want to lose my tip because I’m late,” Louis teases, giving Harry’s curls a gentle tug.

“Lou,” Harry gasps, the sensation making him shudder.

“Huh. Filing _that_ away for later.” Louis giggles and drops onto his feet as they reach the lobby.

“Your fox, Mr. Winston. Be good to him! He’s our prize possession.” Harry bows, figuring if he’s stuck working with people a hair’s breadth from crazy, he might as well enjoy it.

***

And Harry has just settled back in his chair when the front door swings open again, letting in a rush of cold air. It’s a woman, she’s petite and blonde—and carrying a riding crop.

“Hi! Welcome to Grimm’s Grotto.” Harry would be lying if he said the woman didn’t intrigue and terrify him. She’s intense. She’s wearing lipstick in deep plum, and from what Harry’s sister told him, a woman who can pull off a bold lip is someone to be reckoned with.

“Hello,” the woman replies, eyes scanning over Harry’s body. “Pretty boy,” she purrs before depositing herself on the settee.

“Oh Christ.” Liam appears, seemingly out of nowhere, clad in what Harry assumes are—arseless chaps? Although Liam’s yet to turn around and offer confirmation. What Harry does know is that Liam is pissed, he can see it in the way his jaw is set, his sizeable muscles twitching as if poised to fight.

“Liam!” the woman speaks, resting her riding crop over her knees, clearly intent on him seeing her.

“Perrie.” Liam is positively red in the face, and Harry frantically calculates if it’s even possible to restrain Liam, given his own noddle-arms and positive clumsiness. He reckons not, given that he’s a pipe cleaner with eyes, and Liam is a solid mass of rage and muscle.

“I’ll got get Zayn,” Harry murmurs, once he finds Perrie’s name in the appointment program alongside _feminization_ and _Zayn’s regular._ That’s when it hits him, that he’s heard the name before—Perrie was and is a point of contention in Liam and Zayn’s frequent arguments.

Harry knows because neither of them, not either one, is as quiet as they think they might be when they row in the dressing room.

“No, I’ll got get him, you sit down,” Liam commands, switching right into Dom mode.

“Yes,” Harry whimpers, unsure whether to be terrified or turned on—maybe a bit of both?

“Zayn! Your mistress is here!” Liam barks, stalking off down the hall toward the dressing room.

Harry closes his eyes, flinching when he hears the door slam, followed by muffled shouting. It mostly consists of “Fuck off!” and “You’re an arse.”

“Boys,” Perrie scoffs, looking a bit pleased with herself as she picks lint off her pencil skirt. “It’s all a pissing contest with them, innit?” she murmurs ruefully.

“Yeah.” Harry nods, too terrified to point out that he himself is a boy.

“To be honest, I have a girlfriend. Mostly I do this because I like a little variety now and then—and Zayn is good at what he does. He’s very professional.” She pauses. “Can’t always say the same for his boyfriend.” Perrie sighs, flicking her riding crop absentmindedly.

“He’s, uh—not like real boyfriends? Not yet, like, it’s complicated, and Li is a hothead,” Harry supplies, thanking his stars that both he and Louis are relatively uncomplicated. Neither has any doubt that the other loves cock wholly and unrepentantly.

“Whatever. Not my baby, not my problem.” Perrie laughs, looking every bit a Disney villain.

“Hi, Mistress P. Sorry to keep you waiting!” Zayn is there, dressed in a tight black mini skirt, a white button-up, and six-inch stilettos. He’s got on a long dark wig and perfectly winged eye-liner. Harry still gets a little flustered every time he sees Zayn like this, because how on earth can one person look absolutely stunning all the time, gender norms be damned? How? Honestly Harry is jealous, because he’s certain that he’s not even a fraction as pretty as Zayn. He even feels awkward in his little sexy-maid costume, like a child playing dress-up—more of a joke than powerful or hot.

“Haz,” Zayn mutters, giving Harry’s chair a jiggle. Somehow he zoned out, probably looking even dumber than usual.

“Zed,” he responds, shaking his head gently.

“Veronica,” Perrie corrects, giving them both a cross look.

“Right, Veronica, what’s up?” Harry corrects, flicking a bit of hair back from his eyes out of nervous habit.

“Mistress P wants to know if you’d join us,” Zayn—er, Veronica says softly.

“Uh, I dunno? I don’t do scenes anymore.” Harry really isn’t in the mood to be whipped today, not unless Louis is the one doling it all out. Yeah, yeah, that sounds okay.

“You wouldn’t be participating. Just watching, love. See it’s just that my poor little Veronica is miserable, and I want to put a stop it,” Perrie explains, putting a gentle hand on the small of Veronica-slash-Zayn’s back. “Liam! Get out here, you pouty oaf, I know you’re listening,” she mutters, smirking when her words are met with heavy footsteps from down the corridor.

“What do you want?” Liam sulks, looking far less intimidating now that he’s traded his chaps for grey joggers and a faded Adidas t-shirt.

“I have a proposition for you.” Perrie is all business now, easily commanding the attention of the room.

“I’m listening.” Liam glowers, eyes zeroing in on the manicured hand on Zayn’s back.

“So it seems we have a bit of a misunderstanding. My relationship with Veronica is purely professional. I have no intentions for your _Zayn,_ and it really doesn’t have to be personal.” Perrie really is a professional, and Harry is impressed. Liam still seems skeptical. “Look, here’s my deal. Take it or leave it. I’ve invited Zayn’s pretty little friend to sit in on the session. She seems like a good girl. You are, aren’t you, pet?” Perrie directs at Harry, and suddenly he’s preening, grinning at her praise. Damn, she’s good.

“Yeah, I’m a good girl.”

“Thought so,” Perrie coos, stroking his curls. “So what’s your name, princess?” she inquires, leaving Harry to scramble for a name.

“Harriet?” he tries.

“Harriet here would come with us, observe, and come back to report honestly about how I treat Veronica,” Perrie finishes, tapping her crop against her hip as she awaits a response.

“Fine.” Liam caves, his shoulders slumped. “But don’t you dare lay a whip or a hand on Harriet. She’s not part of that end of the business and you will _not_ tolerate any abuse directed her way.”

Harry likes Liam a lot right now. He could be bitter and sulking right now, but instead he’s being a decent mate, all things considered. Liam is good and kind all around, Harry reckons, despite the fact that he’s witnessed him slap and spank people around.

“Thanks,” Harry says softly, giving him an appreciative smile.

“Hear you loud and clear. Harriet will not be touched,” Perrie affirms, and somehow Harry trusts her, even though he really has no reason to. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Liam replies.

And just like that, Harry has once again found himself a pawn in someone else’s fantasy. He’s fairly certain that Zayn in particular owes him a year’s worth of Starbucks at this point.

The scene is mundane, as far as what Harry’s seen at his time at Grimm’s. The room is set up to look like a fancy corporate office: the walls are lined with shelves of books and convincing reproductions of fine art, such as Starry Night and the Mona Lisa. Probably this is Zayn’s handiwork, Harry tells himself.

Perrie, or rather Mistress P, as she requests they call her, is sat at an imposing mahogany desks that bears a shiny plaque with the title CEO on it. For a moment, Harry reflects on how sad it is that being a CEO is just a fantasy for many women, the words _glass ceiling _and_ pink collar job _ rolling around in his head. He has no time to dwell on it though, as Perrie gets up and guides him to a soft leather chair in the corner of the room.

“Comfy, darling?” Mistress P checks, caring and attentive, Harry thinks, making a list of things to tell Liam.

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks for asking.” He nods, smiling when she ruffles his hair. Harry settles in and watches the scene unfold.

Zayn, as it turns out, is playing Veronica, assistant to the newly appointed CEO Mistress P. “Congratulations, Mistress P! Such a smart and powerful woman you are,” Veronica purrs, waiting for Mistress P to give her further instructions.

“Have a seat, Veronica.” Perrie is beaming behind the desk, pointing her toward a chair slightly across the room. “I’ve brought some champagne and chocolates to celebrate!” Mistress P produces a bottle of what looks like champagne and a box of candy from her expensive handbag.

“Oh wow, you spoil me, Mistress. Such a thoughtful boss,” Veronica preens, fetching a pair of glasses from a shelf.

“Get three, love. I’m sure Harriet would like some too.” She sets the bottle beside Harry for a moment, angling the label toward him so he can read it. _Non-alcoholic,_ it says, and he smiles to himself. He’s not one to drink during a scene and he thinks Zayn isn’t either, knows he prefers professionalism and careful boundaries. He beams up at Perrie.

Harry sits quietly and assesses everything. Zayn as Veronica is beautiful, just as Zayn as Zayn is, and he doesn’t appear particularly put-upon to be wearing a skirt and a bright-white button-up. The Veronica persona is a bit more subdued than normal Zayn, and although he doesn’t sound like a woman, he certainly looks like one.

Veronica has a shimmy in her hips as she sets the glasses down on the table. She opens up the bottle with efficiency and pours out three servings, handing one to Mistress P first and Harry second.

“Thank you, love. Now come on, let’s show Harriet how pretty you are,” Perrie says with a smile in her voice. “Come over here so I can take you out of your work clothes, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Veronica leans over the desk slowly, allowing Perrie to unbutton the crisp blouse. Then she slides her arms out of it and sets it by Perrie’s feet, turning around to allow for access to the back zip of the skirt.

Harry gapes. Veronica has on black lacy knickers and a slip of a bra, more a bralette than anything. The dark material offsets the bizarre collection of tattoos that Zayn has all over his body, and somehow the whole picture is—delicate. She _just_ fills out the barely-there lace, looking bronze and brazen under their gazes. 

Really, Veronica is slender and lovely. Harry’s jealous, more than a bit.

“So pretty, isn’t she, Harriet? Just stunning in black.”

Harry turns to look at Perrie, nodding quickly. “Yes, Mistress, very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Veronica murmurs, flushing slightly.

“Now, love, how would you like to celebrate?”

“May I—you work so hard, Mistress, may I give you a back rub?”

Perrie smiles and nods, so Veronica scurries behind the chair. She settles her hands on Perrie’s shoulders, gently kneading them until Perrie’s eyes fall shut. “Such a good worker,” she mutters.

Harry is a bit transfixed, realizes he’s staring unabashedly. He takes a sip of his drink, carbonated pear flavour distracting him from his obvious fascination in the scene unfolding. Perrie hums her enjoyment periodically, angling herself so that Veronica can dig her fingers in deeper. She seems to be enjoying herself, too, small smile alighting her lips whenever she’s praised.

“Thank you, love.” Veronica steps away wordlessly, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Think we ought to show Harriet how good you are at painting? I think my manicure is do for a touch-up.” Perrie waves one hand in the air.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Pale pink today, I think.”

Veronica opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a bottle of nail lacquer, shaking it lightly before uncapping it. Perrie sets her hands on the top of the desk and Veronica paints slowly, tongue sticking out of one side of her mouth as she concentrates.

This is a ritual Harry is familiar with, as he sometimes likes to paint his own nails, not to mention Gemma forced him to paint hers during adolescence. Veronica has a solid technique, starting with the thumbnail and working to the pinky, careful not to muss her handiwork. Ha, handiwork.

Veronica retreats when she’s finished, giving Perrie space to wave her hands in the air so the polish can dry. “Fetch me a chocolate, please, love? Don’t want to ruin your pretty work.” She opens her mouth and tips her head back so Veronica can feed her. The whole thing is a bit silly, but also innocent and kind of, well, sweet. Harry sort of thinks that Liam might be an idiot to be worried about all of this.

The hour winds down, and the last thing they do is bend Veronica over the desk so Perrie can hit her with the riding crop. Her arse gets adorably pink before they stop, and then that’s it. Scene.

Perrie shakes his hand and gives him two air-kisses aimed near his cheeks. “Thank you, Harriet. I appreciate your presence here, and I know Veronica does, as well. I’ll enjoy seeing your darling face at the desk next time I come in. Ta.” She cups Veronica’s face gently. “Always a pleasure, love.”

She leaves, shutting the door behind her. Veronica picks up the discarded skirt and blouse, slipping just the top over her shoulders.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Harry says slowly, shifting from foot to foot.

“Never is. Not everyone’s Taylor fucking Swift,” is the response. “Now let’s get outta here, this shit’s fucking itchy.”

They vacate the room only to find Liam and Louis standing just outside the door. Liam’s shoulders are slumped and Louis looks absolutely _furious._

“I can’t believe you talked him into this, Liam, you know how uncomfortable he is with it all. Limits are limits!”

“I made sure he wouldn’t have to participate! He just sat there and watched, I promise!”

“You’re a fucking _idiot anyway,”_ Louis thunders, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him into a hug. “You okay, babe?” he whispers into Harry’s ear.

“I’m fine. And yeah, Liam, you really are an idiot. That was the most harmless thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Told you,” and for a second Zayn is Zayn again, hazel eyes dark and dangerous. He stalks down the corridor without another word.

“You better follow him,” Louis threatens. Liam stomps down the hall with Louis and Harry behind him.

Zayn yanks open the door to a rarely-used room, the one Harry’s taken to calling _The CandyLand porno room._ They like to hang out there during downtime, since it’s filled with stupid-comfortable neon-coloured couches and soft stuffed animals.

Liam catches the door before it can slam, following Zayn’s anger with anger of his own. The door shuts and before Harry can even second-guess his decision, he pulls out his Grimm master key and locks them both inside.

“Did—are they locked in there?” Louis asks quietly, eyes wide. Harry nods. “You’re a fucking genius, babe.”

“I’ll let you out when you’ve sorted everything out!” Harry yells against the door. “Not a moment sooner!”

“You’re the worst!” Judging by the sound, Liam bangs his fist against the wall.

“Christ, Liam, get the hell out of here,” Zayn groans.

“I can’t, the human tumbleweed locked us in here.”

“I resent that but I’ll let it slide because you’re frustrated!” Harry calls, pulling Louis into his side for an impromptu standing cuddle.

“I demand a lunchtime blowjob,” Louis mutters against Harry’s arm, tickling him a bit. “That outfit is really starting to get to me.”

“I happen to have keys to every room in this place. We’ve got the run of it for lunchtime, yeah?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Yeah, sir.” Harry barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

“Good. Okay. Reckon you’d look nice on your knees in the kitchen, since you’re my maid, and all.”

Grimm’s has a retro-realistic 50s-style kitchen set, and it makes Harry feel like he’s in an episode of _I Love Lucy._

Louis positively flings a ruffled apron at him, grinning sharp when Harry catches it. “Wear that. Only that, and the panties.”

“Yes, sir.” He turns around so Louis can help him out of the dress. He feels his skin flush a bit, but he’s helped by the chill of the room. He puts the apron on and ties it with a flourish. “You know, sir, we could have a kitchen like this someday. In our house.” He turns around, kicking off his heels, looking down at the ground shyly.

“Your idea of pillow-talk is a bit alarming, babe,” Louis responds quietly.

“You—you don’t want that?”

“Of course I do, but like, now is definitely not the time.”

With that, Harry finally looks up and gulps at the look of absolute lust Louis has trained on him. His pupils are so wide he looks drugged, and he won’t stop licking his lips.

“Floor, now.” Harry complies, managing to get onto his knees without faceplanting. “Remember the safewords?” Harry manages not to roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. Instead, he nods. “Say it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it quick, haven’t got all day,” Louis growls, pulling down the waistbands of his trackies and pants until his half-hard cock bobs out.

Harry mewls and leans forward to lick around Louis’ tip, appreciating the groan that slips out of Louis’ mouth.

Time was that Harry used to need a fist at the base of a cock to help himself along, so that he wouldn’t choke, but with time and patience, he’s learned to deepthroat. Louis tells him it’s nearly pornographic, what he’s able to do, and with ease.

Here, kneeling on patterned linoleum in front of his boyfriend, he opens up his throat and reminds himself to breathe through his nose, forcing himself forward. He’s going to do all the work with this one, doesn’t want to be anything but submissive and pliant on the kitchen floor.

Saliva leaks out of his lips as he buries his nose against Louis’ skin, and he belatedly realizes that Louis is babbling his praises loudly, noise filling up the small room. He bobs his head back and forth experimentally, muscles contracting around Louis’ dick. Louis’ hips stutter a bit with that, so Harry does it again and again.

He bobs back and forth, tightening around Louis periodically until Louis hisses loudly and clamps one hand down on Harry’s shoulder, coming down his throat, hot and wet.

He pulls off, breathing raggedly, trying to swallow and swipe at his lips. Louis bats his hands away and pulls him to his feet, wiping his face carefully. Then he pulls at Harry’s hips, stepping up into a kiss.

“Love you, tumbleweed man.”

“I love you too.” Harry belatedly realizes that his own cock is pressing hard against the fabric of his tiny panties, straining the material a great deal. He makes no move to touch himself.

“Put your dress back on and get to work, pornstar,” Louis whispers, eyes trained on Harry’s crotch. “Make sure you think of me all day, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

***

Freshly clothed and tidied up, Harry returns to the front desk to take a look at the security feed on the monitor. He flips through the different cameras, looking at the empty corridor, the boardroom, the room that holds nothing but a St. Andrew’s cross, the kitchen (he only flushes a little at that one), a large grey-walled enclosure that holds a cage, along with all the other rooms at Grimm’s. Everything seems to be in order, so he flips to the CandyLand porno room, hoping he won’t find carnage or hate-sex. Because he knows he’d sit back and watch Liam and Zayn fuck, and he’s not proud of that fact.

They’re sitting on sofas that face one another, and they seem to be having a civil conversation. Zayn’s in nothing but panties, and he’s sitting cross-legged in what Harry assumes is a passive-aggressive attempt to distract Liam. Liam has his hands balled into fists, set atop his thighs.

Harry bites his lip and walks away from the desk, not necessarily setting out to eavesdrop. And yet.

He presses one ear to the crack in the door, furtive.

“It’s too complicated, this weird thing. It’s like limbo, waiting for you to come out.”

“Stop and fucking listen to me, you dick. You never fucking listen, you’re too wrapped up in what you assume is happening.”

“Then tell me! Tell me what’s happening!”

“I already came out to my family! You complete arse. Ages ago. I didn’t want to fucking pressure you, so I did it without you there. They’re fine with it, they know about you now, they’re fine with it all. I didn’t want to force you into anything. Like, they’re not your family, so of course you didn’t need that shit, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You what?”

“But you’ve been so weird lately I just didn’t have a good time to tell you, or even if I ever wanted to, because you’re acting like such a jealous twat, honestly, Liam. I’m over that bullshit.”

“You came out? And you didn’t tell me?”

“You’re not fucking listening. _Again.”_

“I’m so proud of you, babe.” And Harry has to lean in hard to hear this part, with the way Liam’s voice has gone quiet. “Wow. That’s so fucking brave. And they took it okay?”

“Mum cried, but only because I’m happy. Or I was happy, before we started fighting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too, I’m sorry too. And thanks, you know? It was never worth coming out before, didn’t seem worth the drama and hassle. But for you, you know. It just, like, is worth it.”

“You’re worth it. You were worth waiting for. I just—um. I needed you to be out before I had a conversation about this, like. I was, um, wondering about your thoughts on, like, marriage. To me. Marriage with me.”

And here Harry snorts to himself and leaves the corridor, not needing to hear anything else.

***  
Harry returns to work, giddy and sexually frustrated. At least he’s no longer embarrassed to be wearing heels, since he’s managed to walk in them all right all day. He runs his finger along names listed on the computer screen, snorting over various ridiculous fake names in the appointment program. His finger stutter-stops over _Niall_ but his breath comes back when he reads the description, realizing it’s not _his_ Niall.

“A Niall B. to see you at two?” Harry murmurs as Louis swings by the front desk a bit later. “Not my Niall, right?” he asks, quieter.

“Nah, big fella. Rugby sorta guy? All muscley and broad. Likes to be bossed around by little old me.”

“Don’t we all,” Harry sighs. “I should probably go unlock Zayn and Liam now that they’re done fucking.”

“Stop being perverted and do your job!”

“Is that an order, sir?”

Louis swipes teasingly at Harry’s backside. He unlocks the door cautiously, hoping that Liam and Zayn haven’t resumed making out in the sixty seconds he’s had eyes off them. “Everybody decent?” he crows, throwing the door open.

“Still the worst, H,” Liam says quietly, tightening his grip on Zayn’s midsection, pulling him tighter into his lap.

“You love me. And congrats. Gonna let me plan the bachelor party, reckon?”

“Harry,” Zayn says slowly, as is speaking to a very young, very idiotic child. “I wouldn’t let you plan a four-year-old’s birthday party. I’m not letting you hire me a stripper for my big day.”

Harry pouts. “I was going to strip myself, obviously. Anyway, you’re free. Zayn, you have Matty at two-thirty. He wants you to, in this order, throw a glass of water in his face, pour hot soup in his lap, dump a plate of spaghetti over his head, and throw a pie at him. Liam, you and Caroline are teaming up at three for that flogging, with the lady who calls herself Esmeralda? I’m still convinced that’s a fake name, no one is actually named Esmeralda Sixpence. That’s insane.”

Harry goes back to the lobby, retrieving his phone from the desk drawer so he can text Niall.

_hey mate we’re pretty quiet this afternoon if you wanted to take a tour or something? Only bring food because I skipped lunch, thanksssss xx_

***  
Niall brings Nando’s and they eat at the front desk once Harry’s sure everyone’s is session and not going to sneak up on them. “Nah, it’s pretty normal, I guess, all things considered,” Harry is in the middle of explaining, one hand poised in the air for emphasis, holding chicken.

“You’re wearing a maid’s outfit, bro. Not sure it’s entirely normal.”

“That’s just Louis’ doing, actually.”

“So why didn’t you tell me, then?” Niall asks, brows furrowing, which—no, that’s not on.

“I was still wrapping my head around it, I guess. I tripped my way into this job and also like landed a boyfriend out of it? Sounds like too much of a pipe dream to be real, I guess. Like if I mentioned it, tested it, the whole thing might go up in smoke.”

“You introduced me to him, though.”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugs, eating the last of his chicken. “I didn’t say it made sense.”

“All right. Well, glad you finally came around.” 

“Yeah.”

Harry leads him around the Grotto, showing him a few unoccupied playrooms, lazing around the corridor slowly. They return to the desk and Niall loiters, likely trying to catch a glimpse of someone or something more interesting than Harry dressed as a maid.

His eyes widen comically when Louis leads his two pm booking out into the lobby. He looks the _other_ Niall up and down and up again, and Harry sees the appeal, a bit. He’s wide-shouldered and has an easy grin, and he seems comfortable at Grimm’s in a way many new clients aren’t.

Louis shakes his hand and smiles. “Lovely to meet with you, Bressie. I’ll make sure our receptionist puts you down for the same block, in two weeks’ time.”

“Thanks, Louis. See you then.”

Niall tracks Bressie’s movement out of the lobby before rounding on Louis. He slaps at Louis’ hands manically, face flushing.

“Mate, usually when someone’s hitting me it’s because I’m getting paid,” Louis drawls, arching up an eyebrow.

“Sorry, sorry,” Niall responds, backing away.

“What’s up?” Louis gives Niall and Harry each glances in turn, eyebrow still high up under his fringe.

“Gave him the royal tour,” Harry says with an easy shrug. Louis frowns at him. “What? I can make him sign a non-disclosure, if it’ll ease your mind.”

“No, that’s not it,” Louis laughs, rolling his eyes. “I just think he wants in Bressie’s pants, is all.”

“I want to climb him like a tree,” Niall breathes out, cheeks bright pink.

“Well you’re in luck. He likes ‘em small and feisty. Make an appointment for two weeks and maybe you can conveniently run into him in the lobby, yeah?” Louis winks.

“You’re on.”

***  
“I’m just saying, everyone you work with is unfairly attractive. It’s criminal,” Niall bitches as he heads home with Louis and Harry. “Liam? Zayn? Caroline? Asami? Fecking A, lads.”

“Yes, we’re a regular who’s who of the young and beautiful, thank you, Niall,” Louis says easily, grabbing for Harry’s hand to give him a squeeze. He let Harry switch back to civilian clothes before leaving the Grotto, so Harry is comfortable for the first time all day.

“Are you hiring?”

“No, but I’ll consider putting you in the rotation if you continue to suck up to me.”

“You’re on.”

Harry unlocks the door to their flat. “Not to be rude, Niall, but I’m going to need you to fuck off now. My smoking hot boyfriend is going to ravage me, and I don’t want you there during.”

Niall goes ridiculously red and retreats to his room, leaving Louis and Harry by their lonesome.

“You’ve been a very good boy today, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, Harry. Anything for you.”

"You know, I kind of liked being bossed around by you. I like doing things for you and making you happy," Harry admits, his cheeks instantly heating up with a light pink flush. "And I think that maybe, um I'd like it if you--uh, dominated me sometimes." He's staring at the floor at this point.

"Called it! I totally knew you were a sub. You're the subbiest of the subs, my darling princess!" Louis cheers and Harry swears his eyes are fucking twinkling.

Harry knows in the moment that he's never loved someone more, he wants to kiss each of the adorable laugh lines by Louis' eyes, bury himself deep within everything warm and bright inside Louis. "Only for you," he manages to get out, ambling closer to Louis on his clumsy legs, muscles aching from the strain of wearing heels all day, but he doesn't complain. "I just wanna be your sub, want to be a good boy for you because I love you." He nuzzles his nose against Louis' neck. 

"You are a good boy, the best boy. I love you Hazza." Louis' response is immediate and he's leading Harry down the hall by his hand. "Let me show you just how much." He smirks before gently tugging Harry into his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind them. 

After that, Harry goes pliant, letting Louis lay him out on the bed, where they manage to get off two times each. Harry doesn't hold anything back and lets himself get lost in Louis. It feels so special and he thinks to himself, somewhere in the middle of a round of gentle fucking, that maybe, just maybe, Louis is the one. And if Niall whinges non-stop the next day about how loud they were, he doesn't care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Love it? Hate it? Come bug us on tumblr...  
> musiclily and littlemisscraic 
> 
> Love you all muffins!


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